


Tales From A Healer

by I_was_BOTWP



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Healer Hermione Granger, Humor, St Mungo's Hospital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 04:39:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14253213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_was_BOTWP/pseuds/I_was_BOTWP
Summary: Hermione knows it isn't strictly ethical to share stories about her patients with Draco, but it's ok as long as she doesn't share names, right? A humorous look at the life of a healer, as told through random snippets.





	Tales From A Healer

**Author's Note:**

> Both kanewolfe and 89JadedPictures assured me this was funny and worth publishing, so I blame them if the stories fall flat (just kidding ladies, you are the best!).

“Tell me about your day.” Draco glanced over his shoulder towards Hermione, before turning back to add another pinch of pepper to the sauce he was making. Thursday night was usually pasta night in their house.

She took a long drink of wine before saying, “I got hit in the head by two rocks today.”

“Rocks? That seems odd,” Draco answered absent-mindedly, now dropping in a touch more salt.

“Especially considering the witch who threw them at me pulled them out of her vagina,” Hermione added nonchalantly.

Draco nearly dropped the spoon he’d been holding up to his lips in preparation to taste the sauce again.

“What the bloody hell where they doing up there?” She certainly had his full attention now.

Hermione shrugged. “I asked her the same thing. She told me it’s her purse.”

Draco looked flummoxed. He opened his mouth. He snapped his mouth shut. He finally spoke slowly, in a tone used when talking to a child, “Why would anyone have rocks in their handbag? Do you carry rocks in that secretly expanded bag of yours?”

* * *

 

“Men!” Hermione huffed, immediately dropping her bag before shucking off her lime-green robes to toss them unceremoniously across the back of the chair next to the Floo.

Draco looked up from the book he’d been reading while waiting for her to arrive home from work. He arched an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to continue.

“Is sex all you wizards think about?” Hermione stood looking at him accusingly, as if he spoke for his entire half of the population.

Her hair even managed to look agitated, the left side standing out further from her head than the right. It appeared she’d been pulling on the left side while holding her wand in her right hand.

“It’s pretty high up on our list,” he answered slowly, hesitant about engaging with her in her current state.

“I had a long conversation with a 22-year-old diabetic today. He’s already using Muggle insulin, but kept asking me for potions to cure him. He’s deep in denial, isn’t being compliant with taking his insulin, and wouldn’t believe there wasn’t something different magic could do for him.”

“I showed him pictures of a 30-year-old wizard who chose not control his sugar levels. The man in the pictures was blind, on three daily potions, had both feet amputated, and had lost his testicles,” Hermione finished.

Draco blanched.

“See! That!” She pointed a finger at his face as her voice went up in pitch. “That right there is the same look he got on his face just before he cried out with horror ‘How can you live without testicles?’”

* * *

 

“Anything good happen at work today?” Draco sounded hopeful. He had once again been sitting in their lounge, waiting for Hermione to come through the Floo.

Hermione snickered, but then immediately looked contrite. “You can’t tell anyone this one. I know you like to sometimes pass on my stories to your mates. Which is fine, since I never name names. But, this one would be too obvious.”

Draco leaned in, grinning. He actually rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

“I had to do a rotation in the Janus Thickey Ward today. A certain patient in there, who knows he is famous, but isn’t sure why, is currently convinced he is Jesus Christ.”

“Oh Salazar!” Draco let out gleefully.

“Right, but it gets better. Another patient heard him proclaiming his divinity and challenged him to perform a miracle to prove it. He offered to turn his urine into butterbeer. I had to cast a hasty stinging hex to stop him from whipping it out right then and there.”

Draco clapped his hands with genuine delight.

* * *

 

“Best day ever!” Hermione exclaimed when Draco came walking into their bedroom.

He’d been over at his parents for dinner that evening. It was now fairly late; Hermione was already in bed, but still up reading.

“Well, hello to you too, love,” he smirked.

“Yes, yes. Hello. How are you? Excellent. Me too,” she rattled off in quick succession, waving her hand dismissively. “Now on to my story!”

Draco pulled off his outer robes and sent them to the closet with a flick of his wrist. He unclasped his cufflinks and started unbuttoning his shirt.

“I had a wizard come in with horrible burns from the bottoms of his feet up to his thighs. His shoes were charred and all of his clothing was burned away, up to his shorts,” she began.

“Doesn’t sound too interesting,” he interrupted.

“Patience! I’m getting to the good part!” she scolded him. “He starts telling me what spell he used, so I can treat it correctly, and his breath reeks of alcohol. Seriously, the vapors he’s breathing out are giving me a buzz. I pause him to ask him if he’s been drinking. He tells me no.”

Hermione paused dramatically.

“I kept as straight of a face as I could when I told him ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire!’ Dean Thomas was assisting me, and he was laughing so hard he almost hyperventilated.”

“You’ve just been waiting for chance to use that one, haven’t you?”

“I really have,” she said smugly, giving in to the urge to preen.

* * *

 

“Have a bit on an issue at the Leaky Cauldron today, Hermione?” Draco’s voice rang out from down the hall.

Hermione's face turned pink. She pursed her lips in consternation.

“How do you already know about what happened on my lunch break?” she asked when he popped his head into their library.

“Juicy stories like that tend to travel quickly.”

Hermione’s brows knit together and her nose wrinkled in distaste.

“Pansy came to see you this afternoon, then?” She’d seen the other witch sitting at a corner table during the _incident._  It was apparent that Pansy had run off to spread salacious rumors.

“Shall I tell you Pansy’s version first, or would you care to start with yours?” Draco asked with a small teasing grin and a wink.

Hermione looked at him warily, visibly weighing the pros and cons. “Let’s hear her cockamamie version.”

“Funny you should say cock…” Draco drawled, before launching into the story behind Hermione being Wizarding Britain’s biggest slag.

“... and that’s why I should divorce you,” he concluded.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Now do you want to hear what really happened?”

Draco poured himself a scotch and offered one to Hermione from the decanter he kept in the room as she began, but she shook her head.

“Luna was going on and on at lunch about her new boyfriend’s cock, how it’s the best she’s ever seen. Blah, blah, blah. Like a penis is actually pretty,” Hermione paused, eyes suddenly wide. “Except yours, dear. Yours is stunning.”

“Too late.”

“Right. Well then. Sorry about that,” Hermione said, not really looking at all contrite, before continuing. “So, I finally had to interrupt her to tell her, and I quote myself here:

‘Stop nattering on about Rolf’s cock. There’s nothing special about any certain cock. Sure, they come in different colors. Some are more stretchy than others. And some of them wear a hat. But trust me, I’ve seen thousands of penises and in the end they all revert back to little wrinkly caterpillars sitting on their fuzzy tuffets.’

“And that was one of those unfortunate moments where the entire room seemed to have a simultaneous lull in their collective conversations, so that my voice rang out into the silence.”

Hermione hung her head.

“I tried to counteract the damage by vehemently insisting that I am a Healer and I have seen all of those penises because I am a professional,” she mumbled. “But I don’t think anyone heard me over the shocked gasps and whispers.”

Draco walked over to the chair Hermione sat in and put a finger under her chin to raise it up. When her eyes met his, he asked her, “Do you really think I’m walking around with a tuffet between my legs?”

* * *

 

“I had a patient send me an owl today to inform me the potion I gave her for her earache tasted awful. She suggested adding a few dried chamomile flowers to it while it cooled, as that shouldn’t counteract the rosemary and garlic she could taste,” Hermione sighed.

“What’s wrong with that advice? It sounds solid to me, although I don’t know exactly what St. Mungo’s potioneers are brewing.” Draco looked at her thoughtfully.

“I gave her ear drops, not a potion that was meant to be drunk.”

“Oh.”

“Since she didn’t say she was still suffering from the earache, I think I’m going to let it lie.”

* * *

 

The bell above the door rang out, and George Weasley glanced up from behind his till to see Hermione standing in his shop.

“Hello Hermione,” George said with a grin. “Here to buy a pygmy puff?”

Hermione gave him a strange look.

“Didn’t think so,” he said. “Never know though. Suggestive selling works wonders.”

“What really brings you in?” George powered on. “Since I’m positive it isn’t for anything from our Wonder Witch line.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “Must you bring up your Wonder Witch line? Every time?”

“Yes. I must remind you every time you step in here that you don’t like the potions I sell that are mildly suggestive, but are nowhere near Amortentia level. You know, the ones that are some of my best selling items year after year.”

“Now that we have that bit out of the way, can we talk about someone who used to work here? A current patient of mine.” Hermione tried to steer the conversation in the direction she needed it to go.

George stood up straighter, the grin falling off of his face. “Let’s go to my office, shall we?”

He caught the attention of one of his employees on the way to the back, and signaled that they should take care of the register.

Once the door was shut, and the two of them were seated comfortably, Hermione let out a tired moan and tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling above her. There was a large purple splatter directly over her which she’d never noticed before. It had gold glitter in it. The patterns the glitter made were fairly interesting. She forced herself to stop examining it in order to bring her attention to George, but had barely managed to look away before she snapped her eyes back towards it again.

“Did it just move?” she whispered.

“Yes, it did.” George answered with an edge of apprehension. “And I suggest you stop looking at it before you inadvertently anger it.”

Hermione looked George’s way again. He appeared perfectly serious.

“That’s fine. I have enough on my mind as it is.” She straightened up in her chair, pointedly ignoring the blob above her. “Did you have an employee named Philomena Clarke at some point in time?”

“I definitely remember that name,” George confirmed.

“She won’t admit it, but I think she was trying to recreate some of your products to sell on her own.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” George shrugged. “Haven’t had anyone successfully do it yet.”

Hermione shook her head in consternation. George’s easy confidence was something else.  However, she was still there for a reason.

“She’s currently a patient of mine and I may need you to come in for a consultation. If I were to hazard a guess, she was working on the Magical Moustache Miracle at the same time as the Tiny Twister. She’s grown some impressive handlebars that keep on twisting themselves up over and over. What I can’t figure out is why everytime she moves, I think I hear a small mewling noise.”

George snickered. “I’ve never considered the effects of those two products combined, plus the possibility adding in the Penelope’s Purple Pussy Cats.”

“I’m going to need you to come with me then, and possibly sign some sort of non-disclosure form,” Hermione said.

“A non-disclosure form guarantees I get to see the Fluffy Twisting Purple Pussy,” George said firmly.

* * *

 

“I had an elderly witch today who kept insisting she was pregnant and in labor” Hermione began recounting her day to Draco, before he interrupted.

“You know witches can have children much later in life than Muggles, right?”

Hermione's contemptuous stare stopped any further comments.

She continued as if Draco hadn't spoken at all. “I explained to her multiple times that she had indigestion. Finally, I got fed up and asked her how it was that she could be pregnant at her age. She responded quite matter-of-factly that if I didn’t know how that happened by now, then she wanted a real Healer to assist her, thank you very much.”

* * *

 

“Ginny?” Hermione called out through the Floo. “Are you home?”

Ginny came into view a minute later. “I’m here. You can come through.”

Hermione’s face disappeared for a moment, then the Floo’s flames roared up before she stepped into Harry and Ginny’s parlour.

“I don’t want to worry you, but can I check your kids for any symptoms of being ill?” Hermione asked bluntly without preamble.

Hermione had dark circles under her eyes and her robes were quite crumpled. Her shoulders were uncharacteristically slumped. Her eyes darted to the sofa sitting not too far away. A wistful look passed over her face. She shook her head, as if in answer to an inner conversation, before she stiffened her spine and looked back to Ginny determinedly.

“Why, what’s wrong?” Ginny demanded, acting in the exact opposite way Hermione had requested.

“There’s been a Dragon Pox outbreak. There seems to be a pattern tied to kids who attend the same magical primary school you send James and Albus to.”

“Merlin,” Ginny put a hand up to her lips. Her eyes were wide and her face had paled at the mention of Dragon Pox.

“So, you haven’t noticed anything?” Hermione prompted.

“No, but if other kids from the school are falling ill, I want you to look at them.”

It was late enough both boys were sound asleep. After a quick assessment, Hermione found them to be free from the disease.

Ginny offered Hermione a cup of tea and soon both witches were sat in the kitchen.

“How is it spreading? What do I need to watch for? Should I keep them home?” Ginny asked worriedly.

A chuckle slipped out past Hermione’s lips. No sooner had it escaped before she looked aghast at herself.

“Sorry, I know this isn’t a laughing matter. I mean, look at me. I’ve barely slept in days. They’ve got me working 18 hour shifts with a Pepper-up potion slipped to me after the 14th hour.”

“But honestly, the way it spread undetected is slightly funny.” She took a sip of her tea before adding, “In that dark humor sort of way things can be funny.”

Ginny took a sip of her tea, saying nothing, waiting for Hermione to continue.

“It’s been spreading via owl post. Patient zero, from what we can determine,” Hermione stopped, noticing Ginny’s confused look. “Patient zero means the first person to have the disease in a current outbreak. In this case, the first child from the school,” she explained.

Ginny nodded her understanding.

“Well, apparently the little girl, who’s five-years-old, mind you, missed seeing her boyfriend.” Hermione shook her head at the idea of a five year old with a crush, much less a boyfriend. “So, she snuck a note out to him via their family owl. He wrote back, asking what it was like to have Dragon Pox. Did she look like a dragon now?”

Hermione reached to the plate in the middle of the table for a biscuit.

“She started pulling her scabby scales off and saving them in a jar.” Hermione popped the biscuit into her mouth as her words sunk in with Ginny. “Meanwhile she wrote back, telling him not to forget about her while she wasn't at school, and she would send him a present.”

“Nooo…” Ginny moaned in dawning realization. The look of horror on her face caused a rueful grin to spread on Hermione’s.

“Oh, yes. You’ve guessed it, I’m sure. She mailed her jar full of “pretty, shiny scales” to the other child. By then, he’d told his friends about it and they were all jealous that his girlfriend sent him something as rare as dragon scales, and they began clamoring to see them too.  He started sharing them as soon as they arrived at his home. We had a dozen more kids infected before any parent knew what was happening.”

“Can you imagine? Slimey, blood scabs becoming a hot commodity?”

“Ewww!” Ginny shuddered.

When Ginny walked Hermione back towards the Floo, she thanked her for thinking to stop by, then admitted. "I'm truly happy my kids don't have it. But a small part of worries that maybe only the popular kids got it, because they're the ones who traded the scales, and maybe my kids aren't popular enough? Is it normal for me to think that?"

* * *

 

“We had a new healer on duty tonight. Transferred in from India. Nice enough wizard; I think he’ll fit in with the team.” Hermione started up conversationally over pudding.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Draco asked, savoring a forkful of his dessert.

“Well, he quickly informed us of his most embarrassing moment,” Hermione said with a knowing smile.

Draco didn’t disappoint her when his eyes lit up with excitement.

“He apparently has an aversion to insects. Both muggle and magical. A couple of years back, he had a patient come in with something stuck in his ear. When he used his otoscope, which magnifies anything by 100 times, to look in the patient’s ear, he found his worst nightmare. He freely admitted he screamed like a teenage girl when he found a ginormous Glumbumble staring back at him.” She took a sip of water before continuing.

“He ran out of the room and down to the nearest sink to lean over it, resting his hands on the sides. He said he was sure he was going to puke, but to save face, took some deep breaths before heading back to extract it. He used a Summoning Spell to get it out, which obviously wasn’t the smarted of choices.” Hermione grimaced.

“What in the world was he thinking?! Glumbumbles love dark places. I bet that thing landed in his hand, and quickly looked for a new place to scurry off to?” Draco was clearly invested in this story.

“Sure enough,” Hermione confirmed. “It immediately made its way into his sleeve and ran up his arm to disappear inside his robes. He said he gave the patient quite a show when he began to dance around hoping to dislodge it. When that didn’t work, he banished his clothing piece by piece, thinking he would catch it. When he got down to nothing but his pants, he realized he may have a small problem under that final garment.”

Draco snorted at the unintended innuendo, along with the understatement.

“He re-enacted the way he'd gingerly pulled back the waistband to peek inside - his head held at a weird angle, and just one eye open, like a cartoon character. He said he didn’t see anything straight off, so he reached in to feel around. Lifted his bits and probed in the cracks. Gave everything a stern flapping for good measure. Nothing.”

Draco was outright laughing now. It was infectious. Hermione stared laughing with him, knowing that if he already found this part funny, he would love the end.

“The guy considered himself safe, so he summoned his clothes, and started putting them back on. Meanwhile, the patient is still sitting there, watching him. He was nearly finished getting himself together, when the man on the examination table yelled “It’s right there!” The healer looked down in horror to where the other wizard was pointing towards his shoe, only to find the damn thing running up his trouser leg. He shook his leg as hard as he could and it popped back out.”

“I’ve never seen anyone look so proud about telling how he'd stomped on a bug. I’m fairly certain he shouted out the word “Victory!”, as if it were currently happening, loud enough to be heard in the birthing ward.”


End file.
